Firewhiskey Fic: Lyrically Loving Lozenges
by UnseenLibrarian
Summary: Draco believes the Weasley Twins can actually HELP him give a nice gift to his mother as well as earn him points with Hermione. What's wrong with that guy? - A May 2012 Firewhiskey Fic entry - no betas allowed - drunken misspellings are part of the charm!


**For Firewhiskey Fics, no betas, autocorrect, or spell-checking are allowed!**

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**Pairing(s)/Characters: **Draco/Hermione romance, Fred and George fun, Narcissa present

**Challenges:** Mother's Day AND Dirty Limericks

**Summary:** Draco believes the Weasley Twins can actually HELP him give a nice gift to his mother as well as earn him points with Hermione. What's wrong with that guy?

**Rating/Warnings: **M (swearing, sexual suggestiveness)

**Word count:** ~2000

**A Winner:** Won the "FUNNIEST ENTRY" and the "FAVOURITE ENTRY" awards at the LJ May 2012 FirewhiskeyFic Fest.

**Author's Notes:** MEH! Oh ,and for the record, "Mothering Sunday" in the UK typically comes in April. I'm taking liberties. sue me.

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**I REPEAT:** **********For Firewhiskey Fics, no betas, autocorrect, or spell-checking are allowed!**

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**MAY 1999**

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was in full tilt sales mode, as per usual. The deafening roars of the shop itself were a welcome cover to the platinum blond asshole currently approaching the checkout coutner.

"I need a gift for my mother, you cretins."

"Hello to you too, Malfy." George smirtked at Fred's purposefly saying Darco's name wrong.

"Hello, Thinkg one, Thinkg two. Now, back to what I want." Draco sxcowled, knowing he needed to give something pleasant to huis mother on this upcoming Mother's Day. It was the first one after "The Big V Bit The Big One", and Narcissa was still feeling a bit fragile. Hius father was able to calme her down and soother her buy givng her multiple orgasms, but Draco was aboslotly NOT doing tghat sory of thing for his monther. No, no no. It wouldn't be right. Yes, purebloods tended to inbreed, but there WERE limits.

Something simple and sweet. If he had a lyrical bone in his body, he'd writer a poem. Sadly, he did NOT have any sort of lyrical bone, aside from the one between his legs. THAT bone could make a woman sing sweet ,usic. Music. However, that's not wat he was looking for for Mum.

"So why did you come to WWW, Daroc?" asked Fred, still the lead man when dealing wiehth customers. George was the wing man. The Second. Twin B. And he lopved it, because Fred was always in trouble first/ Perhas just a millisecond before he was, but still.

Anywho.

"I came here, as I said not a minute earlier, because I'm in need of a gift for my mother. Mother's Day is approaching, you imbeciles, or have you forgotten? Your mother had seven children, I hope one of them is able to rebmmber Mother's Day."

Fred looked at George, who stepped forward, arm across the front of Fre'ds cheskt. Fred was breathing heafily and turning read. George was the peacemaker. Always had been, always would be.

"Loook. Darco. You need to understand something: if you want our help, the LAST thing you should be doing is insulting us, wether it be directly or indirectly through our mum or any other famiuly member. Understand?":

Draoc looked befuddl3d, hnust just for a moemtn, then reaalization dawned. He blanched, realizing what'd he'd done. He was post-war Draco, riht? He was supposed to be tolerant, suffering frm PTSD peraps, and TOLERANT, of others less-wealthy and less-blooded than he. But these Weasleys Twions – they were doing very well for themselves, AND they were pureblooded, and he needed to get his foot out of huis mouth because he was bloody useless at Poety. Poetry. He needed help, badly, because h wanded wanted to woo … someone, whom his mother would not necessarily abpproe ove. approve of.

So.

"Gentlemen? Mr. and Mr. Weasely. I alplolgise for my hasty remarkws. Please consider then as part of my relapse into Pre-War Personality (PWP), mkay?"

George graciously nodded, smotohing down the magenta robes that he and Fred wore still. _Someday we should wash these things_, he thought to himself.

"Okay. You are suffering from PWP. We'll overlook your fox paws, for now. What sorts of things does your mother like? Are you looking to lift her spirits hn in general, or for something more specivfically escapism? We have some , lovely DayDream Charms," George said, but stopped when Draco held up a hand.

"Do you have anything that would write potety for me? I mean, Poetyryu?" Draco asked, withough hopt.

"Poetty?" George asekd, nognplussed.

"Yes. Poetty. You know: 'Twas Brillig, and the Slithy Toves,. did Gyre and Gimble in the WAbe' and other such stuff – bot more sincere." draco sighed. "I want to write a nice poem for my mother, but I am pants at actiua;ly wroting something GOOD. I have many skills, but poetry is not one of them. So. I was hoping that perhaps, with your Spell-Chek Quiills and Ready-Answer Reeds, you might have some sort of … Pleasant Poetry Plumes, or similar." Draco figited with his black velvetn robes. "Please hgel;p me." he added, which made Fred and George raise their eyebrows.

"Did you just say PLEASE, Draco?" they asked, togeter.

"Yes."

the twins looked at one another.

"As a matter of fact," began George.

"- We do have a Pleasant Poetry Plume, of a sort." continined Fred.

George, the more consciencious of the two, kicked his brother. "We really don't have that sort of thing…"

"No, ours doesn't write,"interrrpted Fred, who stoped George from speaking with a well-placed elbow to the solar plexus. "Oours is more like a, a, "Lyrically Loving Lozenge" – the name is still under construction, and we haven't quite decided to place them for general sale, you understand. "

"What do they do?" asked DRaco, a bit nervously.

"It's a sweet that you eat," Fred said hurridly, now pushing George out of the way and casting a silent _Silencio_ on his brother. George flailed around, trying o reach for a pencil and parchment to write a note, but Fred cast a wordless _Incarcerous_, too.

"Is Thing Two trying to say something?" asked Dracor, bemused.

"Nope, he's just keen to make a sale, as always," Fred laufhed, sitting on George's head. "As I was saying, the Lyrically Loving Lozenge, once swallowed, will allow you to write happy, loving, pleasant poetry for up to one hour after consumption. I recommend it – you scould write loads of stanzas for your dear Mum," Fred finished, his face hopeful.

Draco, the poor sot, never stood a chance.

"I'll take a case of them," he said. "I have… other needs for them as well, so I might as well stock up." He fished out a bagful of Galleons. "How much are they?" he asked.

"Yes." said Fred, grabbing the bag and pushing a large cardboard box of the LLLs towards Draco.

Draco, after scooping them up, said, "Thanks, Things. You really have come through for me." he touched his forelock. "I do appreciate it. Ta ta for now." He strode out the door, confidence oosing from his every orifice.

"Tell Hermione we said Hi, Malfoy!" shoulted Fred after Draco's retreating back. You could SEE the blush rising up his neck.

Fred stood up, freeing George, who promptly stood up and punched Fred in the arm.

"Hey! Why did you sell those to him,! Thety qare still in ALPHA testing, never mind Beta!"

"I know."

"Then why would you give them to him to try? You know they only allow the user to spew out dirty limericks!"

"Because h'ss the git who unleased Fenrir greyback onto th school, which let Greyback savage Bill's face, and I am tired of his highbrow attitude."

"Damn it, Fred, Bill gets laid every night by a VEELA, for crying out loud, and Malfoy's trying to change – it seems… And." George faultered,

"Yeah? Well much of that 'trying' is because he wants to get into Hermione's knickers."

"What!"

"Yep – he's been ogling Hermione and pining over her for months. I've seen him do it firsthand. IT's duscgusting. Also anniyuing is the fact that Hermione seems to fancy HIM!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"But why? Why would she? She has Ron, right?"

"George, where the fuick have you been? Ron's been shagging every groupie that comes along; He and Hermione split up 6 months ago. Hermione, meanwhile, has been taking it upon herself to re… re… re-something all the ex-Death Eaters and Death-Eater-Wannabes that are still around, and Malfoy has become a pet project of hers. He's half in love with her, and I'wouldn't put it past Hermione to be half in love with HIM!"

"How do you know he's in love with her? You sound almost jealous, Fred brother o-mine." George smirked/

" …. I am not. Just because Angelina fancys YOU more than ME, now, doesn't mean I'm… panting after every bird that comes along." Fred protested.

"Hermione's not EVERY Bird."

"I klnow. Shit up. Look, L:et's see what happens with Malf."

"Deal."

TRogether, the twins retired to their office, where they could spy on Malfoy through the itty-bitty teeny weeny Long-Distance Listening Ladybug they'd thoughtfully tucked into his pocket when he wasn't looking. And you readers werent etiehr, that's why they were able to be successfuyl.

Together, they leaned in to listen to the receiver, to hear the fun. Draco audibly chewed and swallowed one of the LLLs. the fun was about to begin.

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"Mother? I would love to present you with an oral poetry reading."

"Oh Draco, really? How lovely."

"This is your Mothering Day present. Oh, hello, Granger – I didn't realize you were having tea with Mum."

"Hello, Draco. It's good to see you. Please, continue, don't let me stand in the way – you won't even know I'm here."

_Fat chance of that,_ Draco muttered to himself. _iI can see your cleavage winking away at me from here, my little Gryffindor lioness._

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Back in their ofrifece, the twins mock-gagged.

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"Mother, I wish to recite for you a poem of my own devising, to show you the love I have for you. Ahem…"

With that, Draco struck a pose and opened his mouth, having surreptitiously eaten a _Lyrically Loving Lozenge_ just bveofer. before. He began to speak:

_A pretty young Black named Narcissa,_

_Had all the young men try to kiss her,_

_Then she gave a great gasp ,_

_Malfoy, he'd grabbed her arse,_

_And said he was going to miss her._

_~ lll ~_

_When asked, he merely shrugged,_

_But Cissa continued to bug,_

_him until he admitted,_

_With her he was smitte-d,_

_Would she let him give her a hug?_

___~ lll ~_

_She nodded, so they stood face to face,_

_And he pulled her into an embrace,_

_Then he suckled her neck,_

_and she thought, What the heck?_

_And brought him back to her place._

___~ lll ~_

_They stripped off their clothes in the hall,_

_And he first fucked her against the wall,_

_She spasmed and came,_

_Then he did the same,_

_After that, they gave shagging their all._

Draco finished. His mum and Hermione gaped at him, open-mouthed, red-faced, and speechless. He stared back at them, realization dawning as to what had just come out of his mouth. He grabbed his mother's shoulders, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, mumbled that he loved her, and sped out the door.

Just before he could Disapparate, he felt a hand capture his. He turned with a snarl on his lipps, but saw it was Hermione. He looked at her warily.

"What do you want, Granger? Come to gloat in my embarrasment? Those danmed Weasley Twins…"

he was stopped by Hermione, who gave him a big, fat, kiss.

"Do you suoop[pose, Draco," she asked, tracing a pattern on his chest," that if I brought you back to my place, you'd tell me some poetry, too?"

Smirking, Draco wrapped his arms around her. "Try me."

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Fred leaned back in his chair, defeated. George was grinning ear to missing ear.

"Well, Fred. Looks like, um, it was a moderate success. At least, Draco came out of the deal relatively unscathed."

Fred scowled. "He's gonna come some more, and soon, if what we heard was any indication." He stopped and eyed their supply of Lozenges. Then he grabbed three and downed them, jumped to his feet, and said, "I've got to go. It's Poetry Rave night over at Seamus's Seahorse Shanty. I bet I can win the 500 Galleon first prize."

"Or at least get laid," said George.

"Too right, " said Fred, and he skipped out the door, chanting:

_A riotous fellow named Fred,_

_To a poetry reading was led,_

_By his wish to get laid,_

_Or at least to get paid,_

_He'd enjoy either one, he had said._

_**END**_


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